The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz Book 1)

by Deborah Wilde

  “Could be. Even a villain is a hero in his own story.” Leo pulled the pickle off her burger, popping it in her mouth.

  I balled up my napkin, frustrated with the lack of concrete information. “The why doesn’t matter. Just the what. So tell me, bestie, what’s Asmodeus up to?”

  Leo gave good glare. “It’s not like there’s a newsletter where the members list their current nefarious plots.”

  “So much for your stealthy P.I. skills.” There was more bite in my voice than I’d intended.

  Leonie hit the ketchup bottle with a hard thwack. “Back off. It pays my bills and tuition. Not all of us have Mommy and Daddy footing the bill for our prolonged adolescence.”

  “If I was still dancing, my scholarship would have taken care of it.”

  “Nee-Nava, come on. I’m sorry.” She raked her hands through her bone-straight hair. “That was super bitchy. You’re just not giving me a break here.”

  “Why should I?” Aside from the fact that I miss you.

  “Because I didn’t infiltrate your family, okay?” Her cheeks flushed as red as her hair. “Yeah, I did use you for Ari. I was massively in love with him.”

  “With all the sweet longing that only a thirteen-year-old can have,” I mocked. I’d had no clue. That rankled too. “Get a message to Asmodeus. Tell him I’m the one he’s looking for and that he can find me at the chapter house. Can you do that?” I wished I could let go of my resentment and just trust her again. Have us pick up where we left off like nothing had changed between us.

  But everything had, and given the equal parts anger and hurt in her voice when she snapped, “Enable your death wish, Rasha? Why, I’d like nothing better.” Leo wasn’t ready to let bygones be bygones either. “Are you sure about this?” she asked a few minutes later.

  I speared a cheese curd. “Do you want to be friends with me again?”

  She grimaced and took a big bite of mushroom burger, glowering at me until she swallowed. “No, but still. Asmodeus is bad news. And when you upset a demon–”

  “Bad things happen, yada yada.” I made a talking mouth noise with my hand. “Believe me, I’ve gotten the spiel.”

  Just to be certain, Leo went into graphic detail about what he might do to me in payback, using two forks, half a hamburger bun, and the desecration of my poutine to illustrate. “You still want me to pass on this message?”

  “No, but yes. It’s Ari.”

  She sighed. “It’s Ari.”

  “And speaking of my darling twin, if you want back in my good graces, you’ll also let me read your teen diary.”

  Leo had been a freak about me never even touching the glittery thing.

  She gave this incredibly demony half-growl. Amazing I’d never figured it out before. Then she sighed. “If I bring it over, are we friends again?” She said it like she didn’t care, but she was leaving gauges in her remaining burger.

  Even if it was Leo and me, it was still demon and Rasha. Talk about complicated. Rohan would never agree to help me with Ari if he found out. Being considered a demon-lover wasn’t going to win me any friends–of the human or devil spawn variety. In fact, I’d probably just signed my own death warrant with the Brotherhood.

  I snagged one of her fries since she’d rendered my poutine inedible. “Dummy. Your diary better be PG where my brother is concerned.”

  “Please. I know what you consider PG. I read your fanfic.” She handed me the vinegar before I could ask for it.

  I grinned for the first time since I’d found her again, remembering the whopper of a bombshell I had yet to drop on her about the inclusion of a certain Rohan Mitra in my life.

  Leo narrowed her eyes at me. “I know that look. It preceded my broken arm, three double dates I’d pay to have surgically removed from my memories, and a ride home in a cop car. Forget it. I want an annulment.”

  I blew her a kiss. “Too late, baby. We’re friends.” Or would be eventually, I hoped.

  I had a lot to think about on my drive home after I dropped Leo off at her apartment. Yes, I’d nearly killed our friendship when I’d been at my lowest, but that had been my screw up. The universe had given me a second chance and no matter how hard repairing it would be, I’d regret it forever if I didn’t try.

  However, it would take some massive finagling to keep Demon Club from finding out about her. I could threaten to kill Leo but no one else could. Xiaoli had known about her for sure, but I doubted any of the new guys did, since they’d have confronted her already if they had. That left Kane. I’d have to find out what he knew.

  I floored the gas pedal to catch a yellow light.

  These past few days had been a trip, and not a particularly pleasurable one. Would they have treated Ari the same way had our positions been reversed? No, I’d be willing to bet good money that had some dude suddenly found himself one of the Fallen Angels, he’d have been welcomed with open arms. Also hookers, blow, and a giant circle jerk. Not patted on the head, and placed under armed guard, while his fate was decided upon.

  My near heart attack today had proven one thing to me. At the end of the day, the only one who could save me was me. So I’d play their games. I’d train. I’d fight. I’d study. I may have been a fuck up but I was also a survivor. Whether the Brotherhood liked it or not, I was going to survive them too.

  And get my twin fighting beside me where he belonged. That idea just got cooler and cooler.

  The car in front of me braked, so I did too, caught in a momentary snarl of traffic headed into downtown to party, the other cars filled with laughing people enjoying life. Good attitude.

  With both demons and certain Rasha gunning for me, who knew what tomorrow held? This was my life and, ultimately, I was the one who had to figure out how to live–and live with–this new version of it.

  So when Rohan ambushed me at the curb after I’d parked, planning to menace me into submission or apology or something, all I did was grin at him. My talk with Leo hadn’t been all Asmodeus-focused. I’d also gotten a tidbit of Samson info from her since I needed something to show for my excursion. Telling Rohan that I’d outed myself to Asmodeus was not going to happen. I’d mention it after the demon was dead.

  While Leo hadn’t been able to tell me what type of demon Samson was or even that there was any actual confirmation of his evil status since he was that sneaky, she did tell me that she’d heard he had spent time in France. I passed the information on now.

  Given how Rohan flattened his lips, he didn’t expect that. His expression as I told him what I learned was priceless, cycling through suspicion, disbelief, a momentary flash of impressed approval–which I savored–before veering back to suspicion.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You managed to find a demon informant who happened to have this knowledge and was willing to give it to you, when Xiaoli could get nothing?”

  I nodded.

  “You got the intel how?” He smirked at me.

  “Not like that, you pig.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “No!”

  “No?” Rohan’s voice was a deadly calm. He braced his hand against the car roof, trapping me.

  Oy vey. I was walking a serious subordination line here but I couldn’t let him get to Leo. “This informant could prove a valuable resource. He trusts me. You guys go storming in and scare him and that’ll be the end of it. It can’t hurt to check out what I’ve said. If it turns out to be a crock of shit, then we know not to trust the goblin.”

  I crossed my fingers behind my back, keeping my gaze steady until he gave a sharp nod. “I had one other thought,” I said.

  “Give me a minute to brace myself.”

  “Since Mommy and Daddy demon probably didn’t name their bundle of joy Samson, there has to be a reason he chose it. Does the obvious biblical connection get us anywhere?”

  Rohan raised an eyebrow. “Us? Did I miss the memo where you were assigned to this mission?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have me oc
cupied in a productive manner?”

  He looked doubtful at that, but answered me. “We checked out that possibility ages ago. Nothing correlates. But you’re thinking along the right lines,” he added begrudgingly. “However, you’re done fact-finding for tonight. Fact-finding entirely where Samson is concerned. He’s dangerous and I don’t want him getting even an inkling that you’re looking into him.”

  “Aw. You care.” I ducked out from under his arm.

  “Yeah. About you blowing all my hard work. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I headed up the front walk. “See? Going upstairs now.”

  He stood there, watching me. “No more sneaking out.”

  “Promise.”

  I’d tested my limits with Rohan and thus the Brotherhood. Any more unauthorized dealings on my part would undermine my plan and possibly lead to my “retirement” by Demon Club. No, I was smart enough to quit while I was ahead.

  There would be no more sneaking out tonight.

  This time, when I left the house again about twenty minutes later, I did it pretty blatantly. No way was I jumping out windows in my black three-inch stilettos with the hot pink soles–my one pop of color, save for my equally hot pink lips. Despite the warm weather we’d been having, this early in March it was still a bit too cold to go jacketless, but a coat would have ruined my overall effect and besides, the peaked nipple look really accessorized the outfit.

  I sashayed down my front stairs, making a silent bet as to whether I’d make it to the taxi idling at the curb before Rohan found me or if I’d have to go find him first.

  His hand clamped on mine before I was halfway down the walk, spinning me around. “Where do you think you’re–”

  He choked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Highly gratifying.

  I pinched his cheek like a maiden aunt. “We’re going out.”

  Not only had I almost died today, I’d also made some very good progress. A treat was in order and a cookie wasn’t going to cut it. Balls, babes, and booze it was.

  It took a moment for Rohan to register that I’d spoken since he was too busy staring at the silky scrap of black fabric I called a dress. “You should be in bed,” he said.

  I leaned in close, my orangey perfume teasing the air around us. “Mmm, I should. The question is, with who?”

  The taxi driver honked.

  “My chariot awaits.” I tugged my arm free. “I expect demons will be after me soon and I’m not going to be shut up like a nun for the rest of my life. Now,” I strode toward the cab, forcing Rohan to follow me. “I’m off to play pool and get exceedingly drunk.” I opened the back door and slid in. “Coming?”

  He squatted down out of view of the cabbie and flicked out one of his finger blades. “I could make you stay.”

  I crossed my bare legs, tantalizingly slow. “Do your worst.”

  He flicked out another blade.

  “In or out?” the pudgy cabbie asked.

  Grumbling, Rohan shoved me over, got into the cab, and slammed the door shut.

  I laughed. “Neon Paradise,” I told the driver. It was my favorite club boasting reasonable-ish priced drinks, pool tables, a low douchebag to normal guy ratio, and good music.

  The cabbie grunted in confirmation.

  Other than the Bhangra music on the stereo, the ride was pretty quiet. My smile widened with each block away from home. This was the best part of going out, when infinite possibility stretched out before me.

  The cab hit the lit up Granville strip in Vancouver’s downtown entertainment district, the streets teeming with people in a free-flow of life and music.

  I paid the fare, then got out, trusting Rohan to follow.

  A quick shake to my mane of curls, then clutch in hand, I waltzed past the people stuck in line, strutting right up to Max, the huge bouncer and keeper of the velvet rope. The red glow of the sign cast a soft filter over us.

  “Looking extra fine tonight, Nava,” he said, unhooking the rope for me to pass.

  “You charmer, Max. I brought a friend. That okay?”

  Rohan stood behind me, scowling.

  “He’s not as pretty but we’ll let it go.” He winked at me. “Have a good time.” The bouncer peered at Rohan. “Do I know you?”

  “No.” Rohan grabbed my hand.

  I barely had time to toss Max a little wave over my shoulder before Rohan dragged me into the club’s all-black foyer, the floor vibrating with the pounding bass coming from deeper inside.

  I tried to pay for Rohan’s admission. “My treat,” I said, pushing his wallet away.

  He knocked my hand out of the way and handed the cashier a couple of twenties. She practically fell out of her little black dress in her haste to take the money and make skin contact with him.

  “That’s very sweet, but I forced you down here,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it,” he replied.

  “So I pay.”

  “No, I pay.”

  I shrugged, holding out my hand for the blacklight stamp that would allow me to be re-admitted. “Then the first round is on me.”

  Rohan made a noncommittal sound as we stepped into the club proper, already busy scanning the room. I did too, trying to see the large space as he did. Pleated curtains framed by multi-colored spotlights illuminated cozy booths along one side. An enormous dance floor separated the seating area from the curved bar and pool tables that ran along the far wall.

  A techno remix of a disco classic had the dancers going wild. My foot tapped to the music, my brain automatically finding “one” in the beat as my jumping off point to move to this rhythm. You could take the girl out of dance…

  “How long do you plan on being reckless?” Rohan asked, his eyes not leaving the crowd.

  “Putting a time frame on it defeats the purpose. Tell me something.” I centered myself in his field of vision so he was forced to look at me. “When did you quit going out? Right after you became Rasha? Or was it a gradual slide into boring?” I rested my hand on his bicep, sending a clear message to the statuesque brunette honing in on him.

  She sailed past like this had been her direction regardless, though not without a dismissive sniff my way.

  Rohan was oblivious. “That’s different.”

  “Why? Because you’re male?”

  “Because I’m trained.”

  “Does training keep you from being killed?”

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. “It helps.”

  “But it doesn’t prevent it. You said it yourself. You don’t expect there to be enough of you to bury. This gig doesn’t come with guarantees, Rohan. I know I’m the big shiny prize, but can you honestly say that hasn’t been each of you at one time or another?”

  From the tight frustration on his face, I’d made my point.

  “I’ll give this my all,” I said, flipping my dark hair off my shoulder. “Prove my worth so that the demons are scared shitless of me and the Brotherhood can’t bear to do without me.” I jabbed him in the chest. “But I won’t give up who I am in the process. Those evil buggers are going to come after me until I die. Don’t force me to stop living in the meantime.”

  He rubbed his hand roughly through his hair.

  I curled my fingers into my palms, imagining playing with those silky strands. Toying with them to my heart’s content. Toying with him in all the most delicious ways.

  “I’m supposed to take care of you,” he said.

  “You’re supposed to guard me,” I corrected. “I have to take care of myself. But if you really want to be useful?” I pointed to the pool tables across the way. “Rack ’em.”

  With that I went off to get shots, enjoying all the blatant looks from hot boys. One way or another, I was going to scratch the itchy edge inside me, tomorrow be damned. Which in this crazy new reality was a distinct possibility.

  13

  From the glowers I got when I arrived at the pool table with our shots, it appeared Rohan had forced a group of frat boys to wrap up their game. While they were too
wussy to say anything to him directly, it didn’t stop a few hissed “pushy bitch” comments flung my way.

  My bodyguard had made himself positively cozy, draping his leather jacket over a tall stool, leaving him in a tailored, short-sleeved charcoal shirt that emphasized his athletic build.

  Drinks in hand, I let myself enjoy the vision of him racking for Eight-ball.

  He removed the triangle with a deft hand, then seeing me with the drinks, eyed the clear liquid. “No whipped cream?”

  “I prefer my shots not remind me of STIs. These are G Bombs.” I said, holding one out to him. “Cinnamon schnapps and vodka.”

  He didn’t take the glass.

  “Sorry. I didn’t even think to ask. Are you an AA member?”

  “Hardly.”

  “You were a rock star. Addictions are within the realm of possibility.” I waggled the shot glass at him again.

  “I’m on the clock.”

  I left the drinks on a nearby high round table, licking sticky spicy cinnamon schnapps off my fingers before choosing a cue stick off the wall rack. “Right. Babysitting duty. We’ll play for it. Loser drinks.”

  He tested out some cues as well. “I’ll try to contain my excitement.”

  Rohan offered to let me go first but I wanted to see his form on his break shot, so I waved him over to the table. He bent over, cue held steady, preferring to hit the head ball from slightly off to the left. The racked balls broke with a satisfying crack. He even managed to sink the three-ball, but his five got tangled up in a nasty cluster.

  “Not bad.” I eyed the table for my best move.

  “By all means, do better.” He slid past me, his ass deliberately brushing against my hip.

  Amateur. I wasn’t that easily distracted, though feel free to rub up against me any time. Gripping the cue with a confident hold an earthquake couldn’t shake, I sank three balls in rapid succession. I straightened up and smiled. “Better, like that?”

  Rohan scratched at his chest. “I was going easy on you, but if that’s how you want to play it…”

  I picked up the chalk. “It is.”

  He leaned over the table. “Buckle up, baby.”